


Angels We Have Heard on High

by Lies_Unfurl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, References to Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 08:29:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lies_Unfurl/pseuds/Lies_Unfurl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Gabriel are the only ones left of those who tried to stop the Apocalypse. They spend Christmastime together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angels We Have Heard on High

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the spnspringfling exchange on livejournal.

Dean is staying in tonight, beer bottles lined up in a neat grid in front of him. The bar this week was too miserable. December drunks are the worst; you've got to be a special kind of fucked-up to spend the season in a dim, dirty tavern that smells more of piss than beer. He doesn't need to know what they'd look like on Christmas Eve.

Granted, Dean's probably ten times as messed up as the worst in the lot. The problems that the haggard, bloody-eyed men slouched on red bar stools have, they're probably all in the realms of lost their job, cheated on their wives, lost custody of the kids. Which sucks, maybe, but compared to the things Dean has seen since last Christmas? No matter how significant their shit seems to them, none of those men have literally watched the end of the world come and go. Seen their brothers slow-dance into the Pit together. Walked away from a chance at happiness, just 'cause she and her son didn't deserve to have his baggage dumped in the middle of the living room.

He reaches out and grabs a new bottle, pops it open and takes a swig. It's his second of the night; he's not even buzzed yet.

The people in the room next to him had spent all last night playing these god-awful Christmas carols. It hadn't even been classic stuff, "O Holy Night" and all that shit. It had been some electro-pop-R&B bastardization of songs Dean had grown up hearing. The lack of sleep meant he spent most of his time in the library yawning and rubbing his eyes, not looking through the old files on local decapitations. He'd been considering a nap when the librarian with the wreath-earrings and obnoxious Santa pin had kicked him out, sternly reminding him that they closed at 4:00 for Christmas Eve.

And, well. He'd gone home and he'd slept, and then he'd gotten up. And now here he is, barely even tasting the cheap crap he bought, just wanting to forget.

Bottle Two goes down easy, images of Sam and Adam on a loop in his head as he guzzles it. He's still thinking about them on Bottle Three.

Bottle Four, and the self-loathing hits in droves. He could have saved them, somehow. There was another way that would have ended in Sam and Adam still being alive; there had to have been. He was just too fucking blind to see it.

Gabriel comes when he's halfway through Bottle Five.

"Spending Christmas alone, kiddo?"

Normally Dean would jump at the angel's sudden appearance, but after four and a half beers, he doesn't really care if someone with a gun comes up behind him. "Hey, Gabe. Wanna beer?"

"Don't mind if I do." Gabriel drops into the chair opposite Dean and takes a sip from the artisan brew that just materialized in his hand. "You look like a hot mess."

"And you're a piece of shit, like usual." He lifts Five to his lips and guzzles the rest down, eyes squeezed shut. He doesn't bother to open them as he reaches out for Six.

His fingers close around empty air. "Oh, come on."

Dean blinks his eyes open and glares at Gabriel and the now-empty card table. "Fuck was that for?"

"That stuff's not good for you." Gabriel waggles his finger and his eyebrows simultaneously at Dean. "I didn't come here to hold your hair back while you puke."

Dean rolls his eyes and leans back in his chair. He doesn't have to ask why Gabriel came. They fell into this pattern three days after the Apocalypse, when Dean was heading opposite of Lisa's, looking for a hunt anywhere but where Sam had told him to go.

They're the last ones left of the world's pathetic attempt to stop Armageddon. Sam's in the Pit; Castiel is just… gone, the splattered pieces of gore completely vanished after the door to the Cage closed. And Dean burned Bobby's body, like he knew the old man would have wanted. His only pit stop before his journey to nowhere was to the Salvage Yard, where he'd scattered the ashes before locking the place up.

So, Gabriel. Dean doesn't really remember the conversation of the first day, the initial "How the hell are you alive?" talk. He remembers the fucking, though, raw and fierce and alive.

Since then, Gabriel has shown up at his leisure. Sometimes he comes and tags along for a couple of days, sometimes he's gone right after they've both come. Sometimes he doesn't show up for a week, and sometimes he'll be there four nights in a row.

It's messed up, it really is. Dean hasn't forgotten that Gabriel has had him killed time and time again, in that loop that never actually happened. He knows that Gabriel is a wild creature, a monster in his own right.

But he's all that's left from the most valiant effort Dean has ever been a part of. He's a familiar face in a world Dean doesn't recognize, and he clings to that with a childlike fierceness.

"Don't you have better places to be?" he asks the angel, proud that his words are only slightly slurred. "Christmas Eve and all that?"

Gabriel reaches over and taps him on the forehead; in an instant, Dean is just pleasantly buzzed, the last two beers gone from his system. "Nah. Not like I got anyone to party with."

The beer Gabriel has been drinking is suddenly replaced with a candy cane, which he licks in a licentious, almost grotesque display. Dean rolls his eyes.

"It's already Christmas where it matters," Gabriel informs him, and then at Dean's questioning glance he elaborates, "Bethlehem. For a day that place… changes. Used to be tradition that Mike and Raphael and I would walk among mortals in Bethlehem on Christmas, bestowing blessings and all that jazz. It's a sacred site. Place where Ley lines converge, whatever you want to call it."

Dean nods, not really sure what to say. Gabriel usually only talks about his sexual exploits, or occasionally some of the poetic justices he performed as the Trickster. This is the first time Dean can recall him mentioning the angel days. "Were you there when he was born? Jesus, I mean?"

Gabriel snickers. "Kid, I was there through the whole damn process. 'Behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son.' That was me, y'know? Messenger of God."

"He still there?" asks Dean. "If God's gone and Jesus and God and the Holy Spirit are all the same…"

The angel shrugs. "Who could tell you? I don't think he's in Heaven anymore, not if his father is gone. Maybe he's on Earth. Maybe he's in some other spiritual realm. Probably doesn't care much for the birds up there bickering all the time. Gets noisy after a while."

And Dean nods, not really sure what to do. He opens his mouth, almost asks Gabriel if he misses it around this time of year, feels the loss more prominently just as Dean has felt emptier without his brother for this whole month, even though that doesn't make sense since they practically never celebrated Christmas as kids.

In the end, though, Dean decides against it. Too sentimental; they don't do feelings.

He tilts his chin at Gabriel's candy cane. "You gonna share or what?"

Gabriel smirks, and it disappears. In a second he's next to Dean, covering Dean's mouth with a peppermint-flavored kiss.

They're on the bed next, the transfer dizzying even though Dean should be used to it. Gabriel undresses him with his hands, pulling off his flannel, gracelessly yanking the shirt over his head. Dean complies easily, knowing what's coming.

Gabriel bites at his collarbone, leaving dark marks that will last for a week, at least. His tongue slides down Dean's chest, toys with his nipple for a few seconds each. The coldness of the Ohio winter is accented by the cooling peppermint on Gabriel's lips as he mouths at Dean's hipbones, again leaving marks.

And then his mouth is on Dean's cock, and he's swallowing him down. He pulls back out, gasping, and then grins at Dean and licks a stripe up the length.

Dean falls back against the pillow, moaning as Gabe takes him in again, his tongue writing patterns against Dean as he sucks. "Fuck, Gabe, Gabriel—"

Gabriel fucking winks at him, and then he runs his tongue over the head of Dean's cock as he swallows him down, and Dean doesn't even know how that's possible, but he's coming anyway, and Gabe swallows every last drop.

*

Later on, after Dean's returned the favor and they're lying in bed together, not quite spooning but not separate either, a clock strikes midnight. Somewhere in the motel, someone drunkenly cries out, "Marry fucking Christmas!"

Dean turns to Gabriel. "Hey Gabe?"

"Yeah?"

"Merry Christmas."

And Gabriel smiles and flicks him on the ear in an oddly affectionate gesture. "You too, Dean. You too."


End file.
